


tell me you're dead and I'll love you even more

by wincestgoddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Other, Sam Winchester-centric, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, implied wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestgoddess/pseuds/wincestgoddess
Summary: Set during the events of 15x20, be aware of spoilersThe first night without Dean is hard.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	tell me you're dead and I'll love you even more

The first night without Dean is hard. 

There’s a brief second of temptation, a brief second where Sam swears he can hear his brother calling from his room, bitching at him to get his ass moving or he’ll start the movie without him. There’s a rich, smooth voice luring him to Dean’s room. 

Sam lingers by the doorway, one hand gripping the edge tightly. Dean’s beloved room feels suddenly too small, his memory foam mattress no longer has their silhouettes etched from night upon nights of sleeping pressed together, now it’s a mess of thorny vines, edges dripping with venom and waiting for Sam.

And he knows if he were to fully step into the room, if he were to lie in that bed, the vines would wrap around his limbs and would suck him in. They would never let go. Dean’s bed is unmade and Sam knows his pillow still has his scent. Sam could get lost in that scent and never force himself to get up again.

So, he doesn’t go in. There’s a glass halfway filled with whiskey on the desk. Sam doesn’t care. Sam doesn’t touch stuff, doesn’t even gather his brother’s belongings. 

Not yet. 

Dean’s wound had been deep, he’d bled out in a matter of minutes. Just long enough for Dean to say goodbye, to unveil his truth from a night many moons ago when Sam was just a stubborn 22-year-old. Dead set on going to law school, dead set on Jessica. 

Not knowing how Dean’s return would impact his whole life. Not knowing how long their story would go, how far and how _deep._ The teenage Sam that had once thought his big brother had a hold on him was nothing compared to the Sam of today; the one that knew Dean wasn’t just who he needed most, Dean was essentially a part of Sam.

Sam’s wound was an ugly, festering gap. It was an iron fist that wrapped tightly around his lungs, and it wasn’t until Dean’s final words ricocheted into his brain that Sam would remember to _breathe._

But his breaths were ragged and short, they were born out of necessity. Because every fiber in his being wanted to die. Every bone in his body urged him to make a deal, to bring Dean back, to find a way, to summon Jack and demand he do something. Plead. Bargain. Anything.

Every single one of his atoms were in a hazy sort of state and his very soul felt like it’d been ripped apart. He guessed that in a way, it had. 

What do you do when your soulmate’s gone?

How do you honor the promise you made when the dreadful nail of finality keeps hitting you as soon as you wake up? 

Dean was _gone._

So, no, Sam doesn’t crawl into Dean’s bed in hopes of finding comfort there. He doesn’t drown his sorrows in whiskey either because the bottle just serves to remind him of his brother. He doesn’t call Jody, Donna or Garth.

They deserve to know; Dean was their family too. 

But Dean was so much more to Sam. His best friend, drinking buddy, mentor, savior; Dean was his _everything._

Had been his everything.

Deep in the black hole, in the wound that’s starting to consume him, Sam tells himself ‘not yet’. He won’t share the news yet because this mourning alone is _his._

Because Dean might’ve been like a son to Jody and like a father to Claire, had been Garth’s first competent hunting partner and the man who saved his ass one too many times. But all of them had people, all of them would mourn and move on. 

Not Sam. 

What Sam does the first night after Dean’s gone, after he’s gathered the courage to burn his flesh and blood, is go to his own bed, the one where there’s no trace of Dean because his brother always complained the mattress was lumpy and his bed was so much better. 

He feels the dip of the bed before even opening his eyes and knows Miracle’s joined him.

Some petty, dark part of him wants to push the dog away. It’s just another reminder of Dean. Fuck, everything in the bunker is a reminder of him. The goddamn kitchen that he loved, the library where they’d spent countless hours doing research. The fucking man-cave, what is Sam gonna do about that now? Just tear it down? Leave it untouched until it gathers dust?

Miracle whines, casts a look at the door and it’s almost like he knows. He can feel the absence. Perhaps he can hear Sam’s heart breaking, too. Maybe he can smell the rotting of his soul. 

Fighting against his dark impulses, Sam turns on his side and lets the dog cuddle up to him. It should be comforting to have a warm, heavy weight pressed against him. It isn’t.

Sam doubts much will bring him comfort for the time to come. 

But he made Dean a promise, and he will keep it, even if he has to fight against himself to do it. He will keep fighting, he will save people and keep their legacy alive. 

And one day, Sam will be outnumbered or gravely injured, and when all’s said and done, he will meet Dean wherever they’re going. Be it Heaven, Hell, Purgatory; none of it matters as long as he’s reunited with the other half of his soul.

Sam thinks _that_ is the only comfort he can find. 


End file.
